


No Pointing Fingers, There's No One To Blame

by DoctorFitzy (KittooningMalijah)



Series: webseries au [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Webseries AU, youtubers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6424345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittooningMalijah/pseuds/DoctorFitzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew wanted him to make another video about himself, but there was nothing he wanted to say that he was comfortable sharing with the entire world. He never expected something like tragedy to inspire him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pointing Fingers, There's No One To Blame

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's definitely worth noting that this entire fic, with the exception of the video scenes, are told with Grant's point of view in mind. In some cases, that makes him an unreliable narrator, especially in times of conflict and stress.
> 
> Additionally, like the first story in this series, all of the relationships can, for the most part, be read as platonic. While there is a small hint at (potentially unrequited) FitzWard romance, it _can_ be read as a brotp.

**9:36 pm, day 0**

         The video must be the shortest one yet at less than a minute, and when it properly starts, the man on camera looks nothing like his viewers would expect. He’s not wearing his usual leather jacket, and there are bags under his eyes that are rimmed with red from worry and tears, and the wall behind him isn’t that of his living room. When he speaks, his broken tone would be enough to make even new viewers and subscribers worry, but not as much as his words. ” _Dear Grant Ward from yesterday - I know it sounds stupid, and you’ll probably have a miserable time, but go with Leo to that dumb science convention, or make Lincoln go with him, or bribe your landlord into doing it. Whatever you do, don’t let him go alone_.”

* * *

 

**34 hours before the video, 11:22 am**

         “What is this thing, again?” Grant looked up from his sandwich with a small frown, turning enough in his seat that he could lean against the edge of the table while facing his friend -- the very friend who had burst into his apartment with no warning only ten minutes before. It would have been one thing if Leo had bothered _knocking_ , but there was no reason he would ever expect anything like that anymore. They were too close to worry about anything like _manners_ when it came to their living rooms, at the very least.

         The question had apparently been asked enough times in the past week that the scientist didn’t have much of a reaction beyond a roll of his eyes until he was seated across the table. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been paying attention, it was just that the past few days had been hectic, and on top of his session of the month, he was more worried about the fact that he still had no video for the week than anything his friend wanted to drag him to.

         “It’s an annual science convention, and Jemma can’t go because she has a big meeting tomorrow. I don’t want to be alone for the two hour drive.”

         “ _Two hours_? And that’s one way?” Getting up from the table, he gave up on trying eat a peaceful lunch with a frown, taking careful, backward steps into his small kitchen. When he got a nod in response, Grant actually let himself groan while turning so that he could open the fridge -- if he knew one thing, it was that the Scotsman should be kept fed and happy at all times, especially if he wanted any chance of getting out of this apparent field trip. “Four hours of driving, and eight hours at the convention? Leo, that is twelve hours I don’t have. I’m supposed to upload a new video tomorrow, and I need that time to get it done.”

         He returned to the table with a pudding cup and spoon in hand, letting out a sigh when he saw the frown aimed in his direction. Of course, he knew the rest of the conversation would consist of arguments and there was a fair chance of him caving before he was alone in his apartment again.

         Leo eyed the pudding cup set in front of him for a moment before holding out his hand for the spoon, tearing the foil away within seconds. “First of all, it’s a ten hour convention -- it goes from ten to eight. Second, why do you even have pudding? I thought you said you were limiting your sugar intake.”

         Sitting down again, the older man tried to return his attention to his sandwich, immediately shifting his gaze back to his friend at the apparent correction. “I definitely don’t have _fourteen hours_ to give up for a scientific convention that I don’t want to go to in the first place. And as for my pudding stash, it’s for when you come over like this so I don’t have to worry that you’ll get too hungry and eat me. _Pudding aside_ , I’m not spending that much time on something I don’t care about.”

         All he actually got in response was a grunt, and he sighed when he realized what kind of mess he’d just made. If he couldn’t find someone to go along with him, Grant himself would get the brunt of the complaints over the next week because he had a supposedly bad time at one of his favorite events of the year. Taking a breath, he braced himself to do something he never did -- _look on the bright side_.

         “You know, if no one’s going with you, you can do whatever you want. Jemma won’t be dragging you around to the things she wants to see, and you don’t have to stop everywhere to explain things to me. You’ll have the time of your life running around and... sciencing over everything.”

         Catching sight of the hint of a smile when he glanced up, Grant took a moment to let himself relax in the sense of pride that came with his small victory. Even if he might not have necessarily fixed the entire problem, at least, for the moment, things were calm, and they would stay that way for at least a little while. If he could get a few hours of relative peace, he would count it as a very large victory.

         “ _Sciencing_ isn’t a word.”

         With a small grin, he shook his head at the sentence before picking up the sandwich from his plate again so that he could actually eat his lunch -- finally. “Yeah, I know. Now, finish your pudding and get out of my apartment so you can get ready for your nerd convention.”

* * *

 

**12:47 pm, day 1**

         “I should have just gone with him.”

         The table was mostly empty, but Grant couldn’t even make himself look over at the one person sitting there with him. Things could have been so different if he’d just sucked it up and gone to the convention like a good friend -- so what if he would have been a bit bored? At least he wouldn’t be sitting in a hospital cafeteria with no proof that their best friend would even be okay.

         A soft sigh was what actually brought his attention to the other side of the table, and he stayed silent while Jemma spoke. “You wouldn’t have been able to stop what happened. It was a freak accident, and if you were there, you’d _both_ be hurt, and... I don’t think I’d be able to handle that.”

         They were both quiet for a long moment after that, the only sounds around them the soft chatter that came with being in a public space. She was right; what had happened couldn’t have been stopped, but if he _had_ been there, maybe the effects of it wouldn’t have been so terrible.

* * *

 

**14 hours before the video, 7:38 am**

         There certainly shouldn’t be anyone knocking on the door at such an early hour, but what _should_ or _shouldn’t_ be had long since mattered. He lived down the hall from two scientists that could talk circles around him about anything related to their degrees, but when it came to acting like human beings, they were all but clueless

         Hence the knock on his door before nine in the morning.

         “The apartment’s empty,” was the greeting he received after opening the door, holding it open wide enough that Jemma could walk in and make herself comfortable on the couch. This was completely normal for them. Sometimes, Leo or Jemma would go somewhere without the other -- whether it was an early meeting with their supervisors at the lab, a trip to visit family, or some work business trip -- and he’d get stuck with whoever had the apartment to themselves. With how long the two had known each other, it didn’t surprise him that being apart for any amount of time was stressful. Grant was just less enthusiastic about having to _deal_ with the lonely party. “I’ll be out of your hair in fifteen minutes so I can go get ready for work, but until then, I’m using your television.”

         He didn’t even blink at the statement, far too used to their strange habits to think twice about how it would affect his sleep schedule, Instead, he gave a halfhearted wave of his hand toward the kitchen while starting back toward his bedroom with a sigh. “Leo’s junk stash is the cabinet above the microwave if you want anything to eat while you’re here. I think he hid some of the good tea in the back when he was over here yesterday.”

         Of course, as soon as he said that, he knew he wouldn’t make it all the way back to his bed, instead sitting down on the end of the couch while she got up and headed for the kitchen with a wide smile. The good tea bounced between the two apartments at least four times a week, always in some strange hiding place so that only one of them could find it and hoard it for themselves. There had been at least two dozen instances where Grant had suggested both of them buying their own box of tea bags, but they never once listened to him, instead carrying on with their silent war and silly hiding places all over his apartment more often than in their own.

         “I’ll make some for both of us, and then we can talk for a bit before I have to go and get ready.”

         With a sigh, he propped his feet up on the coffee table while turning his head to keep an eye on her. The entire situation would be different if she didn’t have to go back to the apartment so soon, if he could keep her company through the entire day instead of just for half an hour before she had to work. Unfortunately for both of them, she had a meeting, and he had a video to figure out a topic for, which meant at least eight hours of boredom and loneliness on both sides.

         As soon as the warm mugs were set down on the wooden surface in front of him, Grant sat up straighter so that he could claim the mug she’d prepared for him, the one with no sugar and hardly any milk, with a faint smile. “He’ll be back tonight, you know. You can both come over tonight, and we can all hang out -- movie marathon through the weekend? Just, don’t wake me up before nine anymore, okay? I hate when you do that.”

         “No, you don’t.” Jemma’s words made him pause, mug halfway to his mouth while he let out a slow sigh. He didn’t even have time to ask any questions before she went on. “We do watch your videos every week, you know. We know about the one you made three months ago -- you said it yourself, Grant Ward; you love us.”

         He rolled his eyes at that, sipping at his tea while relaxing back into the cushions. Just because he’d said it for the entire internet to see didn’t mean it was true -- unless, of course, he considered that it _was_. That’s what his videos were about, after all, true feelings and the lessons he’d learned over the years, and there was no good reason to lie in any of them. At least, that’s what Andrew had explained the _assignment_ as. After a moment, he set the mug down again before looking over at her with a pointed expression. “You shouldn’t believe everything on the internet.”

* * *

 

**3:07 pm, day 1**

         They hadn’t even touched their lunch, too busy thinking about the _maybe_ s and _what if_ s of the last forty eight hours. It wasn’t like they could actually go back and change anything, but stewing in their regrets and guilt was almost less nauseating than trying to fill their stomachs. Grant, at least, felt better knowing he didn’t have anything out of his stomach that could come up, especially with where his mind was going.

         It wouldn’t have been the end of the world to spend the day out of the apartment. Even if he did have a video to record, it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d procrastinated -- if anything, the procrastination might have actually inspired him. He would have rather used procrastination as inspiration for his newest video than the actual events of the day before.

         Because he couldn’t even bother to procrastinate properly, Leo was in a coma, and there was no telling when he would wake up, or if he would at all.

* * *

 

**7 hours before the video, 2:07 pm**

         Grant had spent the majority of his day on the couch, the television on in the background for some kind of noise while he stared at his laptop that had long since gone into sleep mode. If he couldn’t think of anything to make his video about, he could always just go to someone else on the floor -- almost all of them had already made appearances on his channel, and it wouldn’t be hard to get any one of them to agree to it again. The video about himself could wait a week.

         He was drawn out of his thoughts by a knock on the door, and even while he got to his feet whoever was there was persistent. The knocking got louder and faster until the moment he pulled the door open, frowning in confusion at the sight in front of him.

         It wasn’t at all unusual for Jemma to show up at his apartment after a tough day at work, though she usually had Leo in tow, and he almost immediately assumed that she didn’t want to be alone in the apartment for so long. There were a few seconds before he noticed two things. The first was that it was almost four hours too early for her to be away from work at all, let alone all the way home already, and the second was that there were not only fresh tears on her cheeks, but another layer of tried tear tracks underneath them. Something was very wrong, and it was a big enough emergency that whatever it was couldn’t wait until after she was actually done with work for the day.

         “Jemma? What’s wrong? Did something happen with your meeting?” The questions had barely left him before she launched herself forward, and Grant struggled to keep from stumbling backward with the sudden embrace that came with her. Something was _definitely_ wrong, and it was something big, and he had no idea what it was. As long as she didn’t say anything, crying into his chest while he tried to return the hug without overstepping any boundaries that might be in place in a situation like this, he was in the dark, and he couldn’t do anything about it. “Jemma, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

         He heard her sniffle, and then he was hoping that the words had been muffled enough by his shirt that he was mishearing her. “It’s Leo...! There was a fire at the convention, and he’s...!” Her words trailed of into another round of fresh tears, and he had no way of knowing how that sentence was supposed to end.

          Panic rose in his chest at the endless possibilities for how the statement could continue, and it took a few moments before Grant could even properly pull her inside and close the door. Whatever it was, he knew it wasn’t good, and he knew there would be lasting consequences of whatever happened -- neither of which helping the fact that he still felt completely useless. “I need to know what happened. Do we need to drive somewhere?” He knew he was asking the right questions when she gave a weak nod of her head, trying again for another one that would hopefully be just as easy to answer. “Okay. Let me get my shoes and then I’ll drive. Do we need to bring anything?”

          This time, she shook her head, pulling back so that she could wipe uselessly at the tears on her cheeks. “No... No, we don’t need anything... Um...” After a few more moments clearly spent in her head, Jemma looked up at him with a tearful gaze. “I don’t know what to do, Grant...”

          He knew there was one more question that needed to be answered before they went anywhere, even if he was afraid of what the answer might be. There was no telling how bad things were -- all he knew was that there had been a fire and something had happened to their friend, but he needed to know just what level of panic he was allowed to feel for even a few seconds at a time while trying to take care of her hysterics. “We’ll take care of everything, okay? Just... _one more question_. Is he alive?”

          Instead of an answer, he got another tight hug, and a fresh round of tears.

* * *

 

**3:51 am, day 3**

          He couldn’t sleep, so Grant was settled on the couch in the otherwise empty “family center” near the intensive care unit with his laptop settled on his knees. Of course, he wasn’t entirely alone -- Jemma was down the hall sitting with Leo, and Lincoln, the medical student who lived on their floor, was on a coffee run. The caffeine might not do much for their nerves, but there was a very good chance that it would keep them awake for at least another few hours, and that might be all it took for them to get news. It was the little things that were keeping them going.

          When the door swung open again, he lifted his head and let out a sigh at the sight of the paper cups, the promise of coffee almost making it easy to relaxed. He wasn’t exactly _relieved_ , he couldn’t be with how things were going _three days_  into everything, but it was as close as he was going to get until things went back to normal.

          And they _would_  go back to normal. Nothing could be this terrible forever.

          The cushion next to him sank with the weight of their neighbor, and Grant didn’t hesitate before taking the paper cup extended toward him without a word. It was an odd hour, to say the least, but his sleeping schedule was a result of the circumstances, and he might as well check his email while he was still coherent enough to read without the words blurring from his exhaustion.

          “You know, staying awake and exhausting yourself won’t change how he’s doing.” For the first few hours, having the extra company and moral support had been refreshing, there was only so much he and Jemma could do without completely losing their minds, but around mid afternoon he’d gotten tired of the med student hanging around -- mostly because of the logic that came with any short conversation. The didn’t want logic, they wanted _reassurance_ , and anyone involved in the medical field seemed to be doing the exact opposite at every turn.

          Grant let out a grunt in response while scrolling through the endless list of emails about comments on his latest video. Almost all of them were asking what was going on, and he knew he should at least post somewhere about what was happening, but putting it into words like that would make it real. Once it was out there, there was no way he could deny it anymore, and that might be the only thing keeping him sane.

* * *

 

**5 hours before the video, 4:37 pm**

          Jemma led the way while they all but barreled into the hospital reception area, though he was only behind her by a few steps and only because he’d had to turn off the engine while she’d gotten out of the car as soon as it had stopped. They were both worried, that much was clear when they came to a stop in front of the desk. He didn’t even have the chance to catch his breath before he was speaking quickly, hoping that the receptionist could even understand what he was saying. “We’re looking for Leopold Fitz -- he was brought in earlier today from the convention center. Could you point us toward where he is?”

          “Are you family?”

          The question was enough to make Grant pause, unsure of how to respond to something like that. Somehow, he didn’t think saying that the two scientists were the closest thing he had to a family himself would get them the information they needed, though it didn’t really take a genius to figure out something like that. They wanted blood relatives or a significant other, and neither of them technically fit into either of those categories.

          Luckily, he had Jemma to help with the more difficult questions. “Leo is from Scotland -- his mother is there and we’re the only family he has here. I’m his roommate, and we’ve known each other since we were practically children, and Grant is our closest friend. _Please_ , we just want to know if he’s okay.”

          She was bordering on hysterics again, and if it weren’t for the fact that he had to be the voice of optimism at least for a little while longer, Grant would be doing almost the exact same thing. He wasn’t used to worrying -- usually, the most trouble they got into was a minor injury during one of their experiments, or a cold if they were too caught up in something to properly take care of themselves, but something like this? This was much more than he was used to worrying about.

          He held the receptionist’s gaze for a long moment, and then something that had been said seemed to make her look down at the screen of the computer in front of her. There was a part of him that wanted to be hopeful, but all he could feel was dread, and there was an ache in his chest right up until the moment when the calm, practiced tone broke through his pessimistic thoughts.

          “I need your full names and IDs.” Without any hesitation, they scrambled for the cards, not entirely sure of the _why_  but willing to cooperate with any request if it meant getting news. Fear did that to a person. After looking at the cards and matching the information with something on the screen in front of her, the woman handed them back before pointing to the elevators across the lobby. “Take those elevators to the fourth floor and the ICU is off to your left. Ask the nurses at the desk where to go from there.”

* * *

 

**7:47 pm, day 4**

          Eventually, exhaustion won.

          It had less to do with the fact that he was tired, and more to do with the fact that he had an entire person curled up asleep on top of him. Grant hadn’t really noticed how small his best friends were before all of this had happened. He’d always been bigger than them, but he was taller than most people -- his mind had immediately assumed that it was just the usual height difference and moved on to the incoherent science babble -- but this was different. Jemma could fit on his torso, the way she was curled up just then, and all he had to do was go down the hall to see that even thin hospital blankets were enough to make Leo look smaller than normal.

          Grant wanted to believe that things wouldn’t be like this forever, but each day that passed made that harder. When there were people around and things to do for a distraction, it wasn’t so bad, but like this? When the only person close enough to provide something else to focus on was asleep, the negative thoughts took over.

          As much as no one wanted to admit it, there _was_ a chance that Leo might not wake up at all, that they’d have to eventually go back to their lives with one less person in them. If things already seemed so strange with their friend right down the hall, what would things be like without him there at all?

* * *

 

**1 hour before the video, 8:03 pm**

          They’d had to explain things all over again when they got to the nurses’ station, and only then did they find out that they were both on Leo’s emergency contact list. Unfortunately, that still didn’t mean they were allowed into his room -- he was barely considered stable, and if something else were to happen with too many other people in the room, there was no guarantee that the doctors would be able to do their job. With a reason like that, they were more than willing to wait in the hallway for a few hours.

          While Jemma sat in one of the chairs against the wall, Grant stayed on his feet so that he could move - trying to get as much information as he possibly could about what had happened. The more he knew, the easier it would be to mentally calculate a recovery time. If they had a reasonable window, they could figure out what needed to be done, and keep themselves busy enough to hold off on their worry for as long as possible. Worrying wouldn’t help anyone. 

          At least, that’s what they told themselves for nearly four hours until they were actually allowed into Leo’s room.

          He’d been stable long enough that a sudden change in his condition wasn’t something the doctors were worried about. Of course, that didn’t mean that he was in _good_  condition, either. The first thing Grant noticed when he stepped into the room was how _still_ everything was. With all three of them in one room, some kind of movement would be expected -- even if it was something as simple as all of them sitting around and planning videos while otherwise quiet, or something as big as Leo and Grant participating in some experiment Jemma wanted to do. There was nothing normal about the lack of movement in the room, and it added more to his personal discomfort than to his worry.

          This could have all been avoided, easily, and neither of them would have ever had to have this image permanently in their memory. Leo was pale, and and his eyes were closed, and it would be easy to assume he was just sleeping if it weren’t for the multiple tubes hooked up just to help him breathe. One of his arms was in a cast, and the fact that he wasn’t conscious to vocally complain about it like he did with everything else only made everything seem more surreal. If he was awake, Grant didn’t doubt that he would be complaining about every iota of pain, real or imagined, and begging for food. Instead, he looked vulnerable, and damaged, and the room seemed _alienated_  from the rest of reality.

          Grant knew for a fact that he was standing there, seeing it all for himself and committing it to memory despite how much he never wanted to think about that very situation ever again. It didn’t _feel_ real, was the problem. It was like he was watching a bad television show, or watching it happen to someone else, but not one of his best friends. It _couldn’t_  be happening, not like this. The universe couldn’t possibly be this cruel -- the only explanation was that he _must_  be asleep. There was no way this wasn’t some kind of nightmare.

          That was it. Any moment, he would wake up on the couch, stressed about his next video again, and everything would be normal.

* * *

 

**2:38 pm, day 6**

          He added the last of the pudding in his fridge to the bag in his hand, adding it to the pile of supplies by the door before going back into the kitchen. Technically, they were back at the apartments to get clothes for themselves and something comfortable for Leo if he happened to wake up within the next few days before they’d have to make another supply run, but they couldn’t grab anything for _Leo_  and leave out _food_. The Scotsman was like a human vacuum, and after a week in a coma, he was bound to be even more hungry than normal -- which would be the most normal thing to happen in far too long.

          “What are you doing?”

          Grant was searching through the snack cabinet when his attention was drawn back to the door again, hands full of bagged trail mix and chocolates when he turned around at the sound of Jemma’s voice. It was a reasonable question with what their goal had been when they’d made the stop, but there was no good way to explain himself.

          How did he say, _I don’t know how to do this without planning for him, too_ , without bringing up the one thing they were trying to avoid talking about? They were only going to be away from the hospital for a few hours, for their supply run and the drive both ways, and that time had to be stress free. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything else to occupy his mind with, and he was stuck with either staying quiet or ruining their entire plan of not talking about what had happened. He chose the latter.

          “Our best friend has been unconscious for a week. When he wakes up, he’ll be hungry.” He tried to keep his tone even while adding the food in his hands to the bag of pudding and string cheeses and the container of pesto aioli kept in his refrigerator, giving a small shrug of his shoulders without meeting her gaze. They’d known each other long enough that he knew exactly what she’d say to that.

          “The hospital will have food.”

          There it was.

          Grant shook his head while trying to keep from frowning, determined to keep their afternoon from delving into the same dark and pessimistic tone as any of the ones they’d spent at the hospital. They had to stay at least mostly positive until this all blew over, for Leo’s sake if not their own. “Well, they don’t have pudding, do they?” He knew how ridiculous he sounded, but he didn’t care. Every hospital had pudding, but if they relied on hospital food, he’d have nothing to _do_ , and being helpful was the only way he could keep himself together. “Come on. If he’s awake already, he’ll be wondering where we are with all of his favorite snacks, probably complaining to whoever will listen that his arm hurts.”

          “Please, stop.” Her words made him pause, hesitating just for a moment before grabbing his backpack of clothes and the bag of food while she continued. “You know what all the doctors have been saying. I think... At _ten days_ , we should come back here. We can’t keep sitting around and _waiting_  for something that might never happen.”

          That _something_  was Leo waking up, and they both knew it, but the fact that she was the one giving up first was a surprise. Of the two of them, she was the one closest to their comatose friend, and yet she was the one giving up as soon as things started dragging out? Logically, it made sense -- there was no scientific way of figuring out when or if Leo would ever wake up, and holding on to hope that shouldn’t exist was just _asking_  for more hurt, but giving up like that didn’t sit right. There was almost nothing that would make Grant give up on one of the first people he’d started to care about after losing so much.

          “You can come back here. I’ll be staying at the hospital until he wakes up.” He _would_ wake up, he was sure of that, even if it took another week to happen. _Giving up_ was no longer a term in Grant Ward’s dictionary and he was intent on keeping it that way, even if it took months of waiting to prove him right.

          He could _feel_  Jemma’s frustration before she groaned, clearly exhausted from stress and fed up with his stubbornness. It was only a matter of time. “You can’t save him just by loving him.”

          The words were enough to make him pause, taking a deep breath before even trying to come up with a response. He’d long since admitted how much he cared about them -- _to the entire internet_ , even -- and he’d used the same word, but she was using it _wrong_. “I’m not trying to _save_  him, I’m just not giving up, unlike you.” It was a harsh thing to say, and he knew it, but he couldn’t take it back, and there was a part of him that didn’t want to. Was it really so unreasonable to hold out for a least another week before completely giving up? “I _do_  care about him, Jemma, and I thought you did, too.”

          Despite his tone, she did a remarkable job of keeping herself together, though he supposed that neither of them really had the energy left to really fight about this. If they did, it was being put toward staying busy with other things, at least until she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and looked him in the eye.

          “I care about him just as much as you do. I love Leopold Fitz, and he is my best friend in the world, but _my_ feelings don’t cloud my judgment. I know that science is right almost every time, and I know that I can’t keep waiting around for him to wake up every second of the day. I’m not suggesting we give up, I’m suggesting we _give him space_. If he wakes up in a week, then you can say you told me so and we can laugh about all of this in future. But if he doesn’t? If he never wakes up, we can’t waste our lives waiting for something that will never happen. It _hurts_ , and _I hate it_ , but sometimes we have to give up the people we care about and keep living our lives. Don’t you dare judge me the way you are right now because I’m being logical about all of this while you won’t even admit that there’s nothing we can do to speed up his recovery. Bringing his favorite snacks won’t change the fact that he is in a _coma_ , nothing will until his body heals enough to wake up -- _if_  he ever does. I love him, and I want him to wake up, and I know that you do, too, but our combined emotions won’t do that.” He wanted to say something, but before he could even open his mouth, she cut him off, words just low enough that he could hear them without having to move any closer, but he still had to pay attention. “We both love him, Grant, and he’s our best friend, but it’s _different_ for both of us. He’s my best friend, and my roommate, and I can’t imagine where I’d be right now without him. He’s your best friend, too, everyone knows that, but it’s not the same. I’m not going to say that you love him _more_  than I do, because that’s not possible, and we both know it. We love him equally, but _different_.”

* * *

 

**9:17 am, day 7**

          Grant had spent the two hour long drive thinking about what she’d said to him, trying to dissect every word of the speech and failing at understanding it even into the early morning hours, when he was supposed to be trying to sleep on the lumpy couch in the family center. It wasn’t until Jemma went to get breakfast for herself that he’d figured at least some of it out, slouching in his chair while the heart monitor on the other side of the bed beeped steadily.

          They’d been taking turns sitting by Leo’s bed, mostly because that meant they could sleep in cycles and someone would always be right there in case he woke up at an odd hour. Just then, it was his turn, and there was nothing he could think of doing besides _staring_  or letting his gaze drift to every piece of equipment around them in an attempt to understand what they were meant to do. They couldn’t _all_ just be there to take readings and monitor vitals; some had to be what were keeping oxygen flowing, and providing the nutrients to keep him alive while he couldn’t eat. _Logically_ , there were a variety of different machines.

          He was beginning to hate logic. Jemma had tried to explain her decision more than once -- to _not_  give up, as she had so helpfully insisted again at three in the morning -- and if he had to hear the word _logically_  one more time, he might just scream. Logic was the thing that was starting to take one of his best friends away from him, and that made it his worst enemy, a fact that was only made worse when he thought about the _feelings_ she had so eagerly brought up. Feelings and logic didn’t go together for Grant, they never had, and he was willing to bet they never would.

          Shifting in his seat, he moved to sit on the edge of the chair and looked over his shoulder toward the door. No doctors would be in to check on anything for almost an hour, and Lincoln had class, which meant that he would have plenty of time to be, relatively, alone with his thoughts. He could voice them if that was the case.

          Hesitantly, he reached out toward the bed and took Leo’s hand, the one that wasn’t partially restricted by the cast for his broken arm, in one of his, and immediately frowned at how cold he felt. That couldn’t be normal, could it? There were at least three blankets over to him to keep exactly that from happening, and yet those weren’t enough to do the job. All Grant wanted to do in that moment was find a way to fix _that_ , at least, but he couldn’t think of a single way to do that, instead letting out a somewhat shaky sigh and making himself actually speak since he’d first sat down an hour before.

          “I know you probably can’t hear me, because of the coma and everything, but if for some reason you can, I need a favor. If you ask me, I think Jemma’s going a little crazy without you -- she wants to stop staying here overnight, even though you could wake up any day now. I’m trying to figure out _why_ , but I can’t. She’ll probably have to drag me out of here just to get a ride home. Can you imagine that? Tiny Jemma Simmons dragging me out to the car so that we can _move on_ , or something just as ridiculous and pointless as that.” He managed a weak laugh, gently squeezing his fingers around the smaller, colder ones still in his grasp. “We all miss you, you know. It’s kind of weird, sitting here with you when it’s so quiet. If you were awake right now, you’d probably be babbling about science or monkeys or something... I didn’t think I’d ever miss something like that.”

          After another quiet moment, Grant took a deep breath and lowered his voice, disregarding the fact that no one could hear him, anyway. “I’m supposed to make another video today, but I don’t think I’ll be able to. I said everything I can think of last week. If I had a time machine, I’d probably go back and yell at myself if that would help anything. I’m so sorry I didn’t just go with you -- I could have protected you, I could have done _something_ , and because I didn’t, you’re in a _coma_ , and I can’t do anything about it.” He needed to take a break from speaking, just long enough to keep his voice from breaking, though the effort didn’t do much to save his tone when he finally forced out words again.

          “You _need_  to wake up. Within the next few minutes, Leo Fitz, you open those blue eyes of yours, or I _swear_...” Trailing off, he tried to stay quiet and still for those minutes, afraid that any sudden move might startle the universe into taking away whatever good it was tempted to give him. He didn’t last that long at all, breaking before even one full minute had passed. “ _Please_ , just wake up... I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t...”

* * *

 

**5:55 pm, day 9**

          The wall behind him is the same as the one from the last video, though this time he looks like he’s gotten even less rest than before. He’s been completely radio silent for nine days, and any viewer can assume that it has to do with the topic he never elaborated on. When he speaks, it’s clear that his words are rehearsed, and practiced, and the speech he has ready is bound to be one dealing with emotions -- something he’s never been great with.

          “ _Dear Grant Ward from ten days ago - I know it sounds stupid, and you’ll probably have a miserable time, but go with Leo to that dumb science convention, or make Lincoln go with him, or bribe your landlord into doing it. Whatever you do - don’t let him go alone._ ”

          They’re the same words from his last video, only changed to account for the passage of time, and it’s clear from his expression that he’s forcing the words. Whatever happened still hasn’t been resolved, or maybe it has and the ending is a sad one, but after literally thousands of comments and emails questioning what had prompted the words the first time, too many people are expecting an answer for him to stop.

          “ _If he goes alone, he won’t have anyone there with him. If he goes alone, and he doesn’t have anyone there with him, then he’ll be completely alone when one of the projects there causes a fire in the building. There will be a stampede of people bigger than him, all trying to get out the same way, and not caring for anyone’s life but their own._ ”

          He has to stop, taking a deep breath and changing his intended audience from his past self to his current viewers while making eye contact with the camera of his laptop. “ _I was dumb, and I was selfish, and because of that, Leo had no one there to help him get out of the building. No one actually saw what happened, because everything was such a mess, but the doctors have a lot of theories. He’s small, compared to so many people, and they think he got pushed around until he was just pushed over. They can’t say for certain, but he either hit his head when he fell, or got... **kicked**  by someone after... They know someone stepped on his arm, and it’s broken in two places, but because of the circumstances, no one can be blamed for panicking._” He stops talking again, dropping his eyes away from the camera again. It has to be hard, describing what happened to someone so close to him, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing and finishing the story.

          “ _He was on the second floor, which is where all the smoke ended up gathering before he was found, so they’re saying he went without oxygen for at least a few minutes, but can’t say how long exactly -- obviously. For the last nine days and seven hours, Leo has been in a coma, and that means that tomorrow is day ten. According to Jemma, day ten is the day we stop sleeping on couches here at the hospital, and start to go back to our lives, **two hours**  away from here. The doctors say he still has a pretty good chance of waking up, and they’ll call us if there are any changes, but I’ve left the hospital... maybe **three times**  in the past nine days, and it’s getting really hard to stay hopeful when there hasn’t been any change, good or-_”

          “ _Grant?_ ”

          The voice is recognizable by any casual viewer, even if the English scientist isn’t within the camera’s scope, and there’s a hush, a moment of quiet before she gets a low hum in response from the man on camera. And then he waits expectantly, eyes staying on her instead of toward his laptop where his viewers would expect his gaze to stay under any normal circumstances -- though this situation wouldn’t be considered _normal_ for anyone. As soon as she speaks again, he’s on his feet, the live stream video cutting out moments after the microphone from his laptop catches her words.

          “ _He’s awake_.”


End file.
